


Those Days

by Just_Another_Zombie



Series: Late Nights or Early Mornings? [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Depressed Stiles, I have no idea where this came from, Mentions of Suicide, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Allison's Death, Why Did I Write This?, possible trigger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:26:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4951723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Another_Zombie/pseuds/Just_Another_Zombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are days when Stiles doesn’t notice the darkness.<br/>When he is reminded why Scott McCall is his best friend.<br/>When he can do something to impress Lydia Martin<br/>When he can eat dinner with his dad.<br/>When there is no immediate threat of death.<br/>There are days when Stiles doesn’t feel the darkness.</p><p>And then, there are the other kinds of days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Days

There are days when Stiles doesn’t notice the darkness. Days when he is reminded exactly why Scott McCall is best friend, when Stiles does or says something that impresses even the genius that is Lydia Martin, future winner of the Field’s Medal. Days when there are no life threatening Supernatural creatures determined to enjoy a town-wide killing spree in Beacon Hills. There are some days when good things happen, like the Wood Sprites leaving the preserve peacefully, after blessing the town with ‘Good Harvest (not that it was a particularly practical blessing, but it’s the thought that counts), or Dr Deaton actually giving a _straight answer_ to an important question.

There are days when Stiles can sit down at dinner time with his dad, and the two Stilinskis can talk, and joke and _laugh_ with each other, without the threat of attack or death. Days when Stiles can think back to memories of his mother, when she smiled, and danced with him around the kitchen to the music of the radio. When he and his mother and father would curl up together on the couch, and Claudia would read aloud from whatever book she felt like, and she and John would work together to give each character a different voice, and Stiles would end up falling off the chair due to laughing too hard. There are days when Stiles doesn’t feel the darkness.

And then, there are the other kinds of days.

Days when nothing is right, and everything that can go wrong, does. When a rogue Omega enters the territory, or a swarm of pixies takes residence in Beacon Hills Preserve (and don’t let the fairy-tale books delude you, those little bastards are made of pure evil). When a dead body is discovered, torn apart in an alley, or splayed in the street, or _hanging from the basketball hoop in the school gym_. Days when Stiles is too busy trying to research methods of execution for said supernatural threat, and can’t possible concentrate on his schoolwork. So, of course, those are the days when he is called on most in class. And those are the days his teachers reach their limit, and Stiles is buried under hours of detention, forced to do nothing but sit in a classroom for what feels like an endless amount of time, unable to do what he does best, and help his friends. And on those days, when Stiles is finally released from hell, and drives at reckless speeds to the loft of Derek Hale, those are the days when their motley little pack cannot work well together.

On those kinds of days, it’s all Stiles can do to keep the werewolves from going for each other’s throats. And his lack of completed research results in him being a source of anger for the pack, and Lydia Martin brushes him off, like she did _before_ , like he is nothing. And Scott will growl and glare at Stiles, and the teenager just knows, can just _feel,_ that Scott is remembering Allison, and the part that Stiles played in her death. On those days, it doesn’t matter how unwilling Stiles was to be involved in that moment, the blame just hangs in the air like a storm cloud, dark and suffocating, drawing all light from the room. On those days, nothing is accomplished, and everyone ends up leaving, no closer to solving the problem, and Derek will resort to his old ways and glare at Stiles like the human boy is everything wrong with the world.

Those are the days when Stiles goes home, and his dad is just leaving, going back to the station for a late shift, the Sheriff doing his part to stop the threat to his town. And the Sheriff will ask his son what it is they are facing, and how it can be stopped, and Stiles is forced to tell his dad _he doesn't know._ And John runs a hand through his hair, a defeated gesture to match the tired look on his face, and Stiles sees the sadness, the despair in his father’s eyes, but it’s too late to say anything because the Sheriff is gone. And Stiles is alone in his house. Alone in the dark.

And on those days, when Stiles sits at his desk, head buried in some archaic tome or mythical encyclopaedia, he will think of his mother. And he will remember the days when she would sit on the couch in the dark, when John was still at work, and she would stare at the wall and say nothing. Or he remembers the days in hospital, when Claudia would scream and rage, shouting for all to hear that her son, that _Stiles_ , was killing her. And he remembers the heavy weight of guilt that would sit in his stomach on those days, despite the reassurances from his father, and Mrs McCall that his mother didn’t mean it. And the guilt will grow, while Stiles remembers, on those days, as he imagines how disappointed she would be in him. That he hasn’t figured out how to stop Beacon Hills from being in danger. That he can still bring that expression of hopelessness onto his dad’s face. That he is incapable of helping his friends and finding the answers _like he is supposed to!_

 On those days, the darkness is impossible to ignore. It seeps from the walls, and rolls across the ground, licking at Stiles’s feet like fog. It sits in every shadow, it coats every word spat and shouted and scoffed at him. It fills his stomach like a poison, thick like molasses and as bitter as… well nothing can compare to the taste it leaves in Stiles’s mouth. It sits on his tongue, manipulating his words until they come out wrong, not how he meant them, or more than he meant. And people will roll their eyes, ignore him, walk away and leave him until he sits there _alone._ And no matter how hard he tries, how hard he tries to remember the brighter days, there is always that brief flash of thought in the back of his mind. A brief tickle of ‘ _what if’._ What if he just stopped it all? Just threw in the towel, snuffed out the last candle, placed a final full stop at the end of his book. _What if…?_

And on those days, the teenager will sit there and contemplate, imagine what it would be like to not have the weight on his shoulders, to not feel like he holds people’s very lives in his shaking hands.

And then the moment will end. And the silence will be broken by the trill of his cell phone, Scott’s tone. And he will pick up the phone, will always pick up the phone for Scott no matter what because that is his _best friend_ and there is nothing Stiles would not do for Scott. And on those days Scott will apologize, will ask his friend’s forgiveness for the way he was treated. And Stiles will brush it off, _no problem Scotty,_ because it isn’t a problem. Not Scott’s problem anyway. It’s Stiles’s. But Stiles will forgive Scott, of course he does, it’s Scott. And Stiles will plaster a fake smile on his face as he talks to his friend, forcing his usual amount of enthusiasm as he reburies himself in the copious amounts of supernatural lore. And eventually the issue is solved, the threat eliminated and the pack goes back to normal. And Scott will smile at his friend again, and Stiles will eat dinner with his dad. And the darkness will fade, will change from its pitch black to a lighter shade of grey, and will blend into the background again, always there but far enough away to be forgotten again. Until next time.

Because the good days grow few and far between, and Stiles can’t help but feel that one day they will stop altogether. The last flicker of light will be swallowed in shadow, and there will be no ringing phone, or apologies, or laughter at the dinner table, and he will be left lost and cold, and so utterly alone. And Stiles cannot imagine what will happen, when that day comes.

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally no idea where this came from. One minute I'm packing my laptop just before bed, the next I'm typing up a thousand words of depression. Maybe it's the lack of sleep?
> 
> Anyway, hope I didn't bring your day down too much. I'm off to catch some Zzz's before I head to the airport. 
> 
> Stay gold.


End file.
